


A New Addiction

by sheepkun



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Basically this is just self-indulgent, I'm trying?, Izuo - Freeform, M/M, i still don't know how to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-02-02 23:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12736398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheepkun/pseuds/sheepkun
Summary: Izaya comes back to Ikebukuro after a few months, and finds that one very vital thing has changed.





	1. Chapter 1

From the window of a high-café, overlooking one of the parks in the Ikebukuro area, sat a young man, clad in black from his head to his toes, a cup of steaming coffee in front of him, untouched. He would have been as inconspicuous as the rest of the patrons in the area, save for the binoculars, neatly positioned over his eyes, and the nearly maniacal twist of his lips.

Below, on the streets, a man loomed, hair a bright bleached blonde, that while not uncommon, was not usual. Still, his casual gait, and the cigarette hanging daintily from his lips made him but a dot in the wave of the crowd. His hands, slender and bony were hidden away in his pockets, as he stood there, letting the rush of the city move around him, and the smoke swirl near his face, eyes hidden behind the blue tinted glasses resting on his cheekbones.

Orihara Izaya put away his binoculars as a waiter approached him. He turned down the offer to have anything sweet with his coffee. He didn't particularly like sweet things. The man below however, still unaware of his presence, would probably pounce on the opportunity of having a three layer strawberry shortcake, or a delectable slice of chocolate pie. For a moment, Izaya entertained the idea of inviting Heiwajima Shizuo up for an afternoon snack with him. His smile turned wider as the taste of the drink in his mouth turned as bitter as the feeling in his gut. He thought of exactly how the scene would play out; Izaya would not even be able to get a proper word in edgewise before something came flying at him with frightening speed, giving him only a split second to duck, before a cigarette was extinguished beneath a shoe, signaling the start of the chase. Which was why surprise clung to him when he looked up over his porcelain cup, to see the exact man of his musings, staring at the many displayed cakes, a thoughtful twist to his face as he stooped down, earning curious glances from a few stray female costumers. Izaya wondered if it really was that strange to see an adult man admiring the neatly decorated sweets. It was amusing really, how the silliest things would make humans scrunch their nose in disaproval.

Yet Shizuo was either clueless to it all, or didn't care enough, because once he seemed to come to a decision, he did not waste time in going up to pay for his order. Izaya tapped his foot, something nervous crawling up his leg, as he wondered why Shizuo hadn't noticed him yet. It had been a while, but that was usually never enough to deter the other man's actions. Usually, the ex-bartender would be running after Izaya's hide the moment he put a single hair of his arm into Ikebukuro, no matter how long of an interval he stayed away for. He supposed that when it came to the simple living of a brute, the instinct of hunger won over the instinct of anger. Yet for some reason, he couldn't seem to get over the slight tug of frustration at being ignored over pie. He waited, expectant, ready to spring as Shizuo took his order, wrapped in a neat paper bag, and turned, overlooking the café with predatory tilt to his head. He had his words ready on his throat, like the knife in his pocket, coiled to be sprung in an attack.

However, Heiwajima Shizuo simply walked out.

For perhaps one of the first times in his life (that he would admit), Orihara Izaya found himself feeling the gripping disgust of what could only be deemed as frustration. His knuckles turned white around his cup, as he watched the dot of a blonde monstrosity, disappear in the all encompassing mass of the humans he claimed to love. In a burst of energy, he paid for his share, and walked out, letting his knowledge of Shizuo's habits guide him to where he would go (it was Saturday, late afternoon, and he'd probably be heading home). Taking a short cut through a few rooftops and high walls, he made it just as Shizuo turned a corner, bag swinging gently by his side, glasses hiding the expression on his face as he stiffened.

"Shizu-chan."

"Izaya,"

It came not like a bark or a roar, but like the noncommittal recognition of a longtime colleague. There was no real anger behind the words, and only the very light twitch of the man's eyebrows gave away what his seemingly easy demeanor didn't. Izaya, perched on a railing, tried not to frown.

"It has been so long. Shizu-chan looks as frustratingly alive as ever."

"You're not dead either." he doesn't say it like it's a bad thing, and that only serves to frustrate Izaya further.

Something had yet to be thrown at him, and he's wondering if Shizuo's actually thinking of trying to catch him off guard (but Heiwajima Shizuo doesn't think, does he?) He climbs up his stairs and moves past Izaya like it's nothing, like Izaya's the very flea he's often accused of being. And it digs into him harder than any bullet wound or vending machine ever could. Because suddenly, even his status as flea is not worth recognition. In the time he'd been gone, it was as if Heiwajima Shizuo had suddenly been vaccinated against his parasitic existence.

And Izaya hated it, nearly as much as he hated Shizuo himself.

"Did you miss me?" he taunts, even if he already knows the answer.

Shizuo shakes his shaggy head. "Not really." he seems to contemplate for a moment, hand on his doorknob. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

The question hits Izaya like whiplash. "Well, of course I do, Shizu-chan. But unlike you, I'm polite enough to come and visit an old friend."

"We're not friends." Shizuo says, as if he knows what friends really are.

As if he actually has friends (But he does? Doesn't he? More than one...more than Izaya could ever have). He shrugs then, opens the door and goes inside as if it's nothing. He shrugs Izaya away as if he'd never had any weight in his life, and Izaya stands there, trying to act like something hasn't split underneath his feet, trying to act like he doesn't want to tear the door down and force Shizuo's eyes (they're brown, a light, expressive brown, he memorized them from all the times they've fallen on him, blazing) to look only at him. Fall on him where they belonged. Because Orihara Izaya was the only one meant to have the monster's single minded attention.

Yet that too, had been taken away from him as if he'd never owned it in the first place.

It didn't matter.

He would deal.


	2. Chapter 2

"Stop pouting." Namie says, sending him a stiff glare from her desk.

Izaya simply raises a cold brow, twisting his lips into a practiced grin.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do. I don't know what Heiwajima did to you but it's making you more annoying than usual."

"Well, well. I live to serve," he says, before leaning a chin on his hand, staring away from Namie's sharp gaze. "What makes you think Shizu-chan did anything?"

"Because he's usually the only one who gets to you like this."

Izaya snorts, because it's the only way he knows how to deal with the truth when it leans too close to home; by pushing it away.

"That primitive creature has no effect on someone like me."

"Sure."

A silence falls over the office, and Izaya spins in his chair, idly. He'd spent time away from Ikebukuro because things had gotten busy (something that Shinra still didn't believe to be true) yet suddenly business had slowed down again, to more simple conductions, and he found himself, for a lack of better word, bored.

And his favorite play-thing seemed to have, by a twist of irony, grown bored of him in turn.

"He's not trying to kill me." Izaya finally says.

"How disappointing." Namie speaks dry, but her hands have stopped clacking over the keys and she's actually seeming to think about the information.

"He's not even looking at me."

"Why does that bother you? I thought you hated him."

"Of course I do. That's precisely why-" he pauses once he realizes the flaw in his logic. Namie's smiling like the cat who kept the canary.

"You know, if he's making an effort to act normal, you should start trying too."

"Are you suggesting Shizu-chan is capable of being civilized?"

"I'm saying, that your usual course of action is having no effect. You should try something new."

"Something new? With the protozoan?"

"Every living thing evolves, doesn't it? Maybe you're the one who is lagging behind."

There's finality in Namie's tone, as if she had decided the conversation had gone where she wanted it to, and thus would go no further. Izaya sits for a moment, stewing, fingers tapping on the table of dark wood below his hands.

"As if. Something's wrong. I'm going to find out what it is."

"Good luck." gets called out with not real fervor behind him. Izaya ignores it in favor of feeling renewed over his conclusion.

\---------------------

Shinra laughs, loud and boisterous when Izaya broaches the subject with him. It makes Izaya want to kick at his coffee table or slash at his pillows, but he just leans back and pretends like he's not being rubbed the wrong way as Shinra wipes tears from under his glasses.

Celty's out, busy with one delivery or the other, and Izaya isn't certain if he's glad to be out of her presence, or if he wishes she were there, if only to keep Shinra in line. Eventually though, the mirth dies down enough that Izaya's provided with the closest to a clear answer he's been given all day, since he started his search.

"He went to anger management."

It sounds like a joke at first. A ridiculous, elaborate joke. But Shinra's no longer laughing. In fact, he's got that rare look on his face that he wears when he's being remotely serious, and that's probably what makes Izaya snort, with no care for elegance.

"Anger management?"

"Yeah, he started a few months ago. I think he's still going." Shinra takes a sip of the cup of coffee he had made for himself, leaning back and seeming contemplative. "Why?"

"Nothing. I was just wondering who had managed to tame the beast."

"Hmm..." Shinra clicks his tongue, peeking at Izaya with unnecessary perceptiveness. "It bothers you, doesn't it?"

"Why would anything the brute does, bother _me_ , Shinra?" he manages to sound haughty and uncaring, but he can feel defensiveness breaking into him like a knife. Everyone seemed persistent on believing that Izaya was bothered by Shizuo's change in behavior.

He was not. He was pissed. Annoyed. Miffed, perhaps. But not bothered. Bothered made it sound as if he cared about what Shizuo got up to. And he didn't, doesn't. Not at all.

He gets up with the excuse that he's got what he wanted, and that he has other things to tend to. Shinra allows him to leave without further commentary. He doesn't need to say anything for Izaya to feel the waves of lightly concealed amusement. He slams the door on his way out with a little more force than needed, and enjoys the audible wince Shinra gives in response.

He takes a detour to the clinic Shizuo's supposedly visiting. It hadn't been hard information to come by. The place was surprisingly legal and easily accessible, nothing underground or fishy. Izaya wondered what kind of self-respecting doctor would take up a lost cause like Shizuo.

Izaya came upon one of the many rising buildings that lined the streets. The elevator took him to the third floor, to an office with a glass door and a tingling bell that sang when the door was pushed open.

There was quiet, murmuring music and a bubbling fountain upon the front desk. A young girl, with manicured nails and a glossy sheen to her lips looked up at him with an indulgent smile.

"Hello. Can I help you? Do you have a consultation?"

"No." Izaya waved her off, playing pleasant. "I'm just looking around. I've a friend who started coming here, I was just curious to see what kind of place it was."

"Oooh. Are you worried? You shouldn't be. Doctor Jack is wonderful. There isn't anyone they won't help, or can't help."

The girl beamed, obviously enamored, and Izaya tried to not seem disgusted. He forced a smile.

"Is that so? I did notice that Shizu-chan has been much more...well behaved as of late."

"Shizu-chan..?" Her eyes lit up in understanding. "Oh! You must mean Heiwajima Shizuo! I'm glad you've noticed. It's all thanks to the doctor's good work. You know, the first time he came in he nearly broke the desk!" she bit her lip, seeming to catch herself. "I shouldn't be prattling about these things! If there's nothing I can help with then..."

Izaya bowed out gracefully. He'd heard what he wanted. He could look up the doctor later.

"That was all. Thank you for your time, Hana-chan."

He didn't stay to notice the shock in the girl's face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the reviews, first of all. I always love reading those. ´u` Alas, that was chapter two.


	3. Chapter 3

For a while Izaya has to content himself with watching from afar. He's starting to boil with the dissatisfaction of a cat whose prey does not provide the thrill of the chase. He hates it. He hates Shizuo. But more than anything, he hates not having control over things. Hates not having them go the way he wants them to.

He spends a few days, on and off, trying old and new methods of riling Shizuo up. In between work and avoiding Namie's pointed prying, he manages to set up Shizuo into a series of situations that, in the past, would have resulted in a shower of trashcans and vending machines, and other forms of wreckage. 

Except that, for every attempt, Shizuo only seems to simmer, never truly coming to a boiling point.

By the third week, Izaya's bordering what he can be only identify as anger. In that same span of time, Shizuo starts smoking less. It's a bit frustrating because it means the brute will probably live longer without the nicotine ruining his lungs (if the nicotine even could ruin his lungs in the first place).

It's a month later that Namie slams a pile of papers on his desk with a stern sigh.

"I'm really tired of you acting like you've just been dumped."

"I'm tired of you acting like you have any right to express opinions, Namie-chan."

"If you want Heiwajima's attention that bad, why don't you try my suggestion of a different approach?"

"I don't-" Izaya cuts himself off, because there's only so much lying he can get away with. Even he has to admit his behavior had taken a slight obsessive turn; though really, it was in his nature. If the playing pieces were not set upon the board as he saw fit, he would pour over them with the utmost care until they were placed perfectly.

"What was it, that you had suggested?" he asks, keeping his tone dry.

"Be nice."

For a moment there's only the sounds of the city, coming faint from the outside world. Izaya stares at Namie as if she's grown another head, and she stares back with a sort of quiet triumph he can't quite grasp.

"Be _nice_. He's being taught how to tune out all of your usual teasing and hair pulling..."

"So, you're telling me, I have to think outside the box and be..." he roils the word around his tongue. "Nice."

Namie's logic, much to his frustration, makes sense. A different approach could be exactly the necessary steps to put order back to things. If Shizuo was changing up his playing method, than Izaya would simply change the game. And once the blonde idiot let his guard down for good, Izaya would pounce again, onto his vulnerable neck.

Izaya grins, twisted and satisfied for the first time in a while, and Namie pulls back with the faint disgust she always carries when she sees he's happy.

"You're a genius Namie. You deserve a raise."

She scoffs, moves back to her desk, and spends the rest of the day ignoring him.

Izaya takes that time to trace up new plans, pulling strings and reaching out to old contacts. He thinks the best way to start is small, even though he's always been one to prefer things to be grand and eye-catching. 

Which is why he settles for perhaps the oldest move in the book. He has a simple box of elegant chocolates delivered to Heiwajima Shizuo's door.

He does the same thing the following week.

Then the next. Only to have flowers delivered directly to Shizuo on an off day while he's coming back from work.

The look of pure, frustrated confusion on Shizuo's face absolutely delights him, and when the other finally comes to face him down, a month or so after the little game began, it was all that Izaya could do to not break out into laughter.

"You've been leaving these out in front of my place, haven't you?"

Izaya has to hold back a snort. He wasn't sure why he had ever expected any tact from Shizuo, but the man was as brute as his strength, words blunt and with no flourish.

"Why would I do that, Shizu-chan?"

"Because I asked everyone else I know. And they all denied it."

"What makes you think it's not a secret admirer?"

Shizuo brushes off the idea like it's a fly. "There's no way, don't be stupid, flea."

He's back to calling Izaya a flea again, and that brings a rush of what can only be qualified as relief to him. He feels like perhaps he's cracking through the shell that the damn therapist, or whatever, had built around Shizuo.

"Why put yourself down like that, Shizu-chan?" he doesn't particularly care. In a way, he's aware of Shizuo's frail self-confidence and doubts in relation to his person.

"I'm not. There's nothing likeable about me."

He says it so simply it makes Izaya pause for a moment. He doubts he could have made it as hurtful as Shizuo did, with his flippancy.

If he'd been a different man, Izaya would have extended a hand onto Shizuo's shoulder to give it a comforting squeeze. If Shizuo had been a different man, Izaya would have assured him that there was plenty about him to like. If they had been different people, perhaps things would have gone down differently.

But they were not, so Izaya just laughed, with less bite than he'd intended.

"You can say that again. There's certainly nothing I like about you, so it doesn't make sense that I'd spend money on you, does it?"

The comment seems to toil in Shizuo's head for a moment or two, before he nods, more to himself than to Izaya; seemingly accepting it for the truth, though the small furrow between his brows is still there, prominent.

"Yeah...you're right. Damn flea. You've always been smart."

He's surprised when Shizuo smiles at him of all things. Not a genuine, heartfelt smile. Definitely not any of the fond smiles he sends Celty or his brother, but not the feral smirks Izaya is used to either. It's the sort of awkward smile worn when trying to be friendly or attempting to break down a strange situation. It's hardly honest, but it's not menacing, and coupled with the off-hand compliment it brings light to a fact Izaya had always ignored about Shizuo.

He, like his brother, had been blessed by good genes. He like his brother, could be charming, if he tried.

It was such a small, pointless revelation, yet it felt too startling. It felt like too much and Izaya suddenly felt as if the game had been turned against him _again_ and he was the one exposed.

"Well, if you're done bothering me Shizu-chan, I've got things to do."

Shizuo raises a hand in a careless wave. "Whatever."

                                                                                                              ------------------------

After that day, Shizuo disappears for a week. No amount of hunting, high or low, gets Izaya any word of where he is. The secretary at the therapist's office seemed to have learned her lesson, and even with Izaya's incessant needling, her mouth had remained tightly, and frustratingly shut. Izaya could have pushed her further, played dirty, if he'd realy wanted to.

But then, that would make it seem as if it were somehow important that he knew what had happened to Shizuo. That would make it seem like he did something as disgusting as _caring_. And he didn't care. Shizuo could have kickied the bucket or be bleeding in a ditch for all he 'cared'. He just wanted to know because, as the one watching over the flow of things, Izaya was supposed to know _everything_. Not knowing peeved him, made him itch with something that crawled just under his skin.

"If you sigh one more time, I'm clogging your windpipe with a chess piece."

Izaya raises his brow, one hand propped on his chin as he contemplates Namie's fierce glare at her computer screen.

"I wasn't _sighing_ , I was contemplating."

"As if your twisted mind is capable of contemplation."

She smirks.

"If you miss your boyfriend so much, just go see him."

There was so much wrong with the sentence, Izaya couldn't even find the words to begin to express it. He thinks about drawing out his knife and aiming it just near Namie's head, enough to scare her off at least. Though if there was one thing he'd noticed, it was that Namie had grown a painful tolerance to his usual antics.

"Or just ask one of his friends where he is, would it kill you to try a normal approach for once?"

"Yes, yes it would actually," Izaya sniffs, putting a hand over his heart as he pushes his chair back with his feet propped on his desk. He deftly ignores the burn of discomfort at hearing Shizuo and _friends_ in the same phrase. "But that would make your day, wouldn't it Namie-chan?"

"It would, but unfortunately, you're as hard to kill as a cockroach."  Namie finally levels him with a stern look. "You know where he lives, go see him."

Outside, the clouds that had been threatening to come apart finally drop their first signs of rain, leaving splatters against the window.

"There weren't any lights on last time." he grumbles, woe to admit that he had gone as far as to stand outside Shizuo's apartment, waiting for any tell-tale signs of life.

"I'd have thought you'd have broken in by now, all things considered. Try knocking next time, it doesn't seem like Heiwajima-san has any plans of ending your life, much to my displeasure."

Izaya pretends like he'd stopped listening.

It's only when thunder claps in the sky that he moves from his chair, not even bothering to throw an excuse over his shoulder.

The gifts he'd still been sending were still outside, forgotten in the elements when he arrived. The bouquet of flowers, looked almost like an offering to the dead, against the dull lights and hazy sheets of rain. Izaya frowned, kicked them out of the way and watched them topple and break apart down the stairs.

It didn't bring him as much pleasure as he would've thought, and the rain starting to soak through his coat only made the trembling in his gut grow stronger, until it felt like he'd scream.

"Shizu-chan! I came to see you!" he called, fist poised over the door, unmoving.

Izaya had never pegged himself for a coward. Slippery, perhaps, sneaky, but not a coward. Yet he couldn't bring himself to knock. It was as if he was afraid of what lines he'd be crossing, of what he'd see once the door was pushed back and willingly opened.

"Ah, maybe he really did die..."

There's a clatter, the pull of a lock, and Izaya's heart plummets in his chest. He's stuck between fight or flight, but the decision is made for him when the door opens before he can even scuff his shoes on the cement.

"Flea?"

It's Shizuo's house. It's Shizuo apartment, yet the man standing in a loose T-shirt and sweatpants, with the dark roots of his hair starting to show and dark circles under his eyes, _can't_ be Heiwajima Shizuo.

This man looks fallible, tired, softened around the edges. He looks human, head tilted to the side, nose red from a cold perhaps.

Izaya didn't know Shizuo could get colds. He didn't know monsters could get sick.

"You're alive after all."

The person who's supposedly Shizuo laughs quietly, and it sounds like the rumbles of distant thunder. "Sorry to disappoint. What are you doing here in the rain, anyways?"

"I was just in the neighborhood, not all of us can afford to skip out on work."

He means it as a jab, but 'Shizuo' seems to take it as a joke, chuckling again.

"You're getting soaked, do you want to come in?"

It's like something in Izaya snaps. He can hear it, loud and clear in his head, the strings coming apart and every foundation he had ever stood on crumbling. He had been wrong. Heiwajima Shizuo wasn't alive. This man wasn't Heiwajima Shizuo. The Heiwajima Shizuo that Izaya had known, was dead, buried under a man that was forced pleasantry and peaceful airs.

"No."

He leaves, without looking back, thinking that the flowers for a funeral, were not such a wrong metaphor, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you for all the lovely comments! ;u; They really made my day!! I'm sorry I haven't directly replied to them, I just find AO3's reply system really weird? Alas, this chapter was fun to write, I think it's one of the most self-indulgent ones up to now. Izaya's worldview is being ruined and I love it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all! Happy Holidays! Sorry this is so late? I think I edited this chapter too many times for it to be legal, I actually did a bunch of research on anger managemen for it too. But I'm over the moon with the result, and I hope you guys like it! I want to thank you all for the comments, they always make me super happy!! And if ya'll thought Izaya was getting served before, I don't know what you will think now. XD

"Izaya."

He glances up, Shizuo's walking to him, casual, hands in his pockets, a lollipop stick between his lips. He seems better, almost like himself, all dressed in his crisp white shirt, with his hair dyed bright and his glasses perched on his nose.

He almost looks familiar, almost fools Izaya into thinking that things were back to normal, that his plan had finally worked.

Instead Shizuo stops just short of him, the picture of idyllic leisure as he puts his hands in his pockets, and regards Izaya like an interesting puzzle.

He'd always been rather adept at being annoyingly unpredictable in his predictability.

At least that had not changed.

"I need your help."

Izaya wants to scream. Why would he ever help Shizuo? What would he possibly gain out of _helping Shizuo_?

_Nothing._

"I want to figure out who keeps sending these gifts." he's settled himself on the bench next to Izaya now. There's enough space between them for it to not seem strange to a passerby, but it still feels too close for Izaya's liking. He can see that Shizuo has freckles dusting his nose from this distance, and he's not sure he likes the revelation.

"Last week, they sent me books. I don't know how they knew I'd liked them, but I really did. Isn't it kind of creepy that someone knows so much about me? Are you sure no one's paying you or anything?"

"Ah. Client confidentiality Shizu-chan. Even if I knew, I wouldn't be able to tell you."

For a moment, Shizuo's lips twitch and his hands ball up in fists. But instead of rising up and kicking a storm he lets out a long, winded breath.

"Sorry, still getting used to missing my cigarettes." he shoots Izaya another one of his awkward smiles, the ones that make Izaya feel like jumping at Shizuo's throat and squeezing until the man looks at him with hate in his eyes again. "I suppose you're right. Still, I wish I could at least tell them to not spend so much on me."

He scratches at his neck.

"Why, afraid you'll fall for them only to have your heart-broken?"

Shizuo stares at him then, long and thoughtful, as if he's taking Izaya's question seriously, and not like the teasing it's supposed to be.

"No. If I do get my heart broken...it'll have been worth it. To have liked someone, and have someone like me back...just once. It would be nice."

This time when he smiles, it's slow, and wistful, and it reminds Izaya that they're no longer in High School. There's a sort of melancholy to Shizuo's expression that only comes with age, and the taste of regret.

Izaya twitches in his seat and Shizuo gets up, all long limbs clad in dark clothes. He runs a hand through his hair, and it looks so frustratingly blonde under the light that it makes Izaya squint.

"I'll leave you to your nasty scheming then, flea," he waves his goodbye, and Izaya watches him leave, feeling the burning in his chest grow into magma.

He has no control of the situation. He has no control of Shizuo. And while the brute is looking at him again, it's hardly the same. He doesn't have Shizuo's undivided attention, he doesn't have the thrill of the chase, of being a running target. He doesn't have anything of what he used to have, of what he used to claim as his own.

Instead, he has Shizuo acting amiable towards him, as if they were acquaintances who'd recently gotten over a misunderstanding. He has Shizuo approaching him, nonchalant and a little stumbling, as if somehow, they were sporting a budding _friendship_.

And it makes Izaya unbelievably _angry_.

And if there's one thing Izaya hates more than Shizuo, it's feeling anything too strongly. Because feelings, hurt. The kind of hurt that can't be stopped with pills or hospital visits.

"I'll kill him!" he notes into the air, lips curling up, and this time it's not Shizuo that's on  his mind. "I'll kill that doctor."

                                                                                             

                                                                                                     -------------------------

 

Izaya looks into it. It's what he does, after all, find things out about people.

It turns out that Doctor Jack is a pleasant middle-aged man. The kind of man that shows up in Christmas postcards posing as Santa Claus.

He looks harmless, all around friendly and competent.

Izaya thinks he looks like the devil himself. He thinks, that if he's playing God, then it's his job to thwart the 'good' doctor.

But that feels like giving in, it feels like yielding to the enemy, rather than beating him. It feels like losing and Izaya never loses; at least, he never admits to doing so.

"Nothing's working. It's been weeks and nothing is working."

Namie raises her eyes. For the first time, the usual twist of disgust in her expression is carefully veiled.

"I tried being nice and it didn't work. If anything, it's making him think we're... _friendly_."

He spits out the last part as if it's poison.

"That was the point."

Izaya stops his aimless spinning with a heel, the sound squeaking through the office as he levels Namie with blank irritation.

"What?"

"That was the point." she repeats, running a hand down her face in what must be frustration.

"That was the whole point! I didn't suggest that you be nice to him as some creepy machination! I suggested it because you can't seriously think you'll be able to reverse the work of a professional with your silly games, and I was getting tired of your moping!"

Her voice cuts off with a bite sharp enough that Izaya blinks, sunk back in the cushion of his chair as her words wash over him like shards of glass. He's too stunned to say anything in return, shocked into silence at the realization that she's touched upon the point that Izaya had been fervently skirting around.

He _couldn't_ expect to reverse the work of a professional. No matter how competent and infallible he believed himself to be, it was still an unrealistic goal. Even if he did decide to kill the man, it was already probably too late. Shizuo would perhaps, find another clinic, or simply continue treatment on his own, through pills or group therapy. He had already been given all the tools to tame his beast, and Izaya was too late to stop it. Heiwajima Shizuo had been lost.

"He's gone." he noted into the heavy silence. "He's gone, and I didn't even drive a knife through him."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've actually been having a great time with this story. It really gets me thinking about the characters! Before getting onto to it though, I just wanted to thank everyone who comments and kudos on this self-indulgent thing of mine, it really makes my day. Also, if you guys feel up to it, I recommend reading the first part of the chapter at least, to the sound of the Binzume no Tenshi song from the Drrr!!! OST. I wrote it with that kind of feeling in mind?
> 
> \----

When Izaya walks out into the lingering warmth of a heated afternoon after a long winded negotiation, the last thing he expects to see is the very bane of this thoughts. Yet Heiwajima Shizuo is there, sprawled on a wooden bench, a smoothie in his slack hands looking ready to tumble onto the heated ground. His neck is at an odd angle, and his lips are parted, as if to snore, but there's no sound beyond the distant roar of the city. There's a stray cat, dark and languid, curled around his legs, seemingly just as deep in its slumber.

It's a small park, in a quiet part of Ikebukuro, which seems rather impossible, but it exists. There's not a lot to it. Just a fountain, and benches, and lots of trees.

It's quiet. The kind of quiet that makes it possible to hear birds, if one strains their hearing hard enough.

Izaya pauses, and the crunch of his shoes on asphalt seems to be too loud. The cat's pointed ears swivel, and yellow, keen eyes fall on him, seeming to seize him up with distaste.

Izaya sends the cat an equal glance of contempt, stuffing his hands in his pockets to feel his switchblade against his palm.

He seems to be propelled forward by some unknown force. The job that had brought him so far out of downtown had already been taken care of, and he was free to go on home, or to visit the nice, new, upscale restaurant that had inaugurated just yesterday.

Instead he's moving right into Heiwajima's orbit, until his body's casting a long shadow, turning blonde hair dull and tan skin ashen.

Shizuo's glasses are tucked into his shirt, and the perspiration of the smoothie is dripping a steady puddle by his feet, barely missing the cat's gleaming, black fur. His eyebrows are set smooth, just as slack as the rest of him, and the column of his neck is exposed, frail and vulnerable.

Izaya can see the pulse point, knows just where to cut to make death quick and painless, or torturously slow. He'd always thought death was fascinating, so intimately linked as it was with humanity. He'd also always thought that monsters like Shizuo did not deserve the kindness of a gentle death.

Yet it had been a while since Shizuo had either acted, or looked the part of the monster he was supposed to play. As if to prove this point, the cat purrs out a thin yawn, stretching out claws and lean muscles, before pouncing onto the bench, settling into a crouch next to Shizuo's thigh. Its lazy, blinking eyes seem to dare Izaya to drive the hovering blade into the thin skin on Shizuo's neck.

"He's already dead, it won't make a difference if I kill him." he grouses.

Shizuo's nose twitches at this, and he sighs out a long breath, head lolling further so it lands with a dull thud onto the back of the bench.

Izaya's hand trembles, in anger, in frustration; because he'd never been lenient, he'd never been weak.

But the little breaths leaving Shizuo's parted lips are full of life, and the smoothie in his loose hands has already melted into a disgusting liquid of a nauseous, artificial pink, and the cat has hidden its yellow gaze away, haughty and trusting all at once.

There's a surreal quality to the sight of  Heiwajima Shizuo asleep in a silent corner of the world, away from the noise and bustle of the rest of the city. There's something mellow about it too, something that feels almost like an open wound, and the total lack of animosity in the air leaves Izaya gaping.

The string in his chest pull back with a snap, his ribs creaking as if to crack against the pressure.

He pockets his switchblade, reaching out a hand to pry the smoothie free from its confines. Their hands brush, and it's not violent, it's not rough, but it shocks more than a well-placed punch.

He walks away before the animosity he'd always harbored like an old friend can be buried under the hazy mirage in front of him, hand cradled to his chest and a frown marring his features.

                                                                                                               --------------------------

That day seems to follow Izaya like a rather petulant ghost, coming to mind when he least expects it, and hovering persistently until he acknowledges its existence.

It irks him, but he finds that it's only worse when he fights it, and he'd never been one to deny himself indulgences. So he allows it, simmers about it, let's his thoughts drift when the mornings are slow and the company is dull.

And the more he thinks about it, the clearer it all seems to become, until he can almost feel the chill of plastic against his palm.

"You know, when I first heard of Shizuo, I thought he was a girl. That's why I called him Shizu-chan." he finally says, on a Tuesday evening, tapping his foot on the wooden floor of his office.

He says it as if it's just a stray thought, not a fact he'd been obsessing over. He says it because he needs someone to wake him up and tell him that it had all been a fever dream.

"Amazing," Namie drawls, rubbing at a stain on her shirt with a put upon frown. "Are you paying me for these therapy sessions or do I have to charge extra?"

Izaya ignores her, staring at his reflection on the window, his face blending with the skyline in a mess of man and urbanization.

"When I think about it, it's not such a bad nickname, he has such girly tastes after all."

Namie's chair creaks, and she moves to throw away the napkin, deciding her shirt cannot be salvaged. She opens her water bottle, takes a sip, moving from one leg to the other.

She's not looking at him but Izaya knows she's listening. Her eyebrows are set in the stern line they always get whenever she has to deal with his ramblings.

"I mean, he likes sweets, and pudding, and flowers. He likes _flowers_."

"I thought you had stopped sending him gifts?"

"I did." Izaya snaps. "That's not the point."

"What _is_ the point then?"

"The point...is that Heiwajima Shizuo pets cats and drinks strawberry milkshakes."

"So?" Namie's resumed her post in front of her desk, rubbing her hands together before turning on her monitor, the glow of it making her seem ghastly. "All humans are contradictory."

"Human?" Izaya scoffs. "Namie, please, Shizu-chan's not-"

"Well, he gets sick, doesn't he? And he eats, and drinks, and sleeps. He gets tired, and he gets angry, and he smiles too. I've seen it. He has a nice smile." she seems to get lost in her thoughts for a moment. "Isn't that all part of being human? If anything, he's more human than anyone."

The computer whirrs.

"Maybe that's why you like hating him so much."

Namie only has time to blink before there's a knife embed into her computer.

"Sometimes, Namie-chan, you hit the nail too dangerously close to the head." Izaya says, pleasant, chin resting on a hand as if he'd never moved. "That could get you killed."

"Fuck you," she grumbles. "And this better not be affecting my paycheck."


	6. Chapter 6

As much as Izaya liked to go around claiming that all of humanity was his to watch and fawn over, the truth was that he'd always been a loner. Embracing the whole world with only his two arms was the best defense he'd come up with against love.

It wasn't that he couldn't feel love, or that he abhorred the idea of love.

It was just that love was one of the many things that Izaya preferred to avoid. Because he liked being in control, and he liked having the upper hand, and love, like a good handful of other feelings, didn't allow that.

Love made others into fools. He'd seen it happen with Shinra, seen it happen with plenty of other people as well. In fact, one thing he'd long observed was that love, in whatever form, could make people strong, but it could also often lead to their downfalls.

It wasn't a bargain Izaya had ever been willing to make.

That didn't mean he didn't feel attraction, that occasionally his fallible humanity didn't trip him up.

In fact, it would be a lie if he said he'd never used his looks to his advantage; he'd had flings, fooled around, but at 27, Orihara Izaya had never been in a relationship.

He was certain no one went around asking when he would settle down, simply because they didn't consider him sane enough for such things. He doubted anyone could imagine him tying the knot with a nice girl, let alone going steady with someone for a measly period of 24hrs. He couldn't imagine it either.

It wasn't that he lacked the ability for love, it was just that it was safer to love everyone equally. It was harder to let himself become exposed when his love was all encompassing. It was the cowardly way out, but he'd never claimed to be some courageous, righteous knight. In fact, all the callous names Shizuo used to go around calling him suited him very well.

He _was_ sneaky, slippery, manipulative. He was proud of it too. It kept him a step ahead of others, and a few steps above too. Giving too much of himself to one person would make him vulnerable, and Izaya detested vulnerability.

Except, perhaps, all his sneaking, manipulating, and slipping around had somehow come to bite him back in the neck, because Izaya suddenly found himself with his thoughts filled not with the collective of humans that he entangled himself with, but with one, dubious human specifically.

Heiwajima Shizuo.

There was no longer any denying that Shizuo was human. Izaya had seen it, with his very own eyes.

Shizuo breathing deep to reign in his temper. Shizuo visiting a doctor to help him unscramble his life. Shizuo with his nose red due to a cold and his voice cracking. Shizuo slack-mouthed and asleep.

He'd seen Shizuo immersed in the books Izaya had given him, seen Shizuo gently touch the flower petals that had been left on his doorstep.

All of it flickered across his mind's eyes, undeniable proof that Heiwajima Shizuo was human.

There was an old saying that there was a fine line between 'love' and 'hate'.

And if Heiwajima Shizuo was human, then that meant, that inevitably, he was not the monster Izaya had loved to hate. If he was human, that meant Izaya...had to love him as he loved everyone else.

His chest squeezes, with disgust, and something else, something like falling.

"I refuse!"

He waves the picture of Shizuo in his hand around, letting it catch the light from his window so Shizuo's face fades in and out of focus, before ripping it right down the middle, again, and again, and again, until there were only shreds of a photograph, scattered atop his bed.

 

                                                                                                   --------------------------------------------

 

"They stopped. I wonder if they're alright."

Izaya sighs, rubbing at the space between his eyes. He'd given up on stopping Shizuo from approaching him with the same ambling, awkward friendliness he'd been going with for the past months. It seemed the blonde was as stubborn as he was strong.

And Izaya was starting to think Doctor Jack's stupid methods had reverted to some form of exposure therapy, making Shizuo constantly face the very thing that irritated him most. And a little part of him, a very small part, that he wanted to snuff out and kill, was rather glad that Shizuo still approached him.

It was better, much better, than being outright ignored.

"Who?" he asks, simply to humor the conversation.

"The uh..." Shizuo seems to stumble for words, looking around as if someone would apprehend him for it. "The secret admirer."

Izaya blinks. Then he snorts, and before he can stop himself he's doubled over laughing. Shizuo goes quiet, stiffens, and that only makes him laugh harder because Heiwajima Shizuo, in all his tall, intimidating glory, is looking utterly mortified.

"Shut up, flea." he grumbles, whacking Izaya lightly over the head; a gesture that Izaya had only ever seen shared between young, longtime friends, and not grown men, fumbling at civility in a public park.  

It gives him enough to pause to catch his breath and try to reign in the bubble of his heart, as he stretches his limbs back, recollecting himself into a safe distance.

"Why do you ask Shizu-chan? Worried they no longer love you?"

"What? No, it's just...I was worried maybe something happened to them. But you're probably right, they just got bored of me." he looks to the side, scuffing the sole of his shoe. "Maybe...it was just someone's idea of a prank, after all."

Izaya blinks as Shizuo coughs, seeming to catch his thoughts up to his mouth.

"Why am I even telling you all this?" he shoves his hands in his pockets. "Nevermind."

Shizuo starts to turn away, grumbling under his breath, and Izaya can see the red of his ears, peeking from between edges of blonde hair.

He wonders if it would feel warm to the touch.

His hand shoots out before he can stop himself, clasping around Shizuo's wrist. It's thinner than he'd have thought it would be, bony around his clasp.

"It wasn't."

"Wha-,"

"It wasn't a prank."

Shizuo's jaw goes slack for a moment, and he seems torn between trying to process Izaya hand on his skin, or Izaya's sudden honesty, and it seems that both things at the same time are too much.

He fumbles on his next words.

"What happened to client confidentiality?"

"It's not like I'm really giving anything away," he says, trying to sound light, teasing, but instead sounding like he's admitting to something.

Something he doesn't even know.

"Okay, uh..thanks," Shizuo's eyes flicker to where Izaya still has him captive. Izaya tries not to think about how the other could have pulled away at any moment, how he could have recoiled at the touch. He puts shock down as the reason for the lacking reaction.  "Can you..?"

There's still blood collected on the tip of Shizuo's ears, and his mouth is set somewhere between uncomfortable irritation and bashfulness. It's a strange mix, and the longer Izaya stares at it the harder the curling in his gut grows.

"Yes."

Izaya lets go; Shizuo nods his head in some form of acknowledgement, moving away, occasionally craning his neck to catch Izaya's eyes, brows furrowed in obvious confusion.

"My hand burns..." he notes, into the air, a slow, creeping realization grabbing at him until it feels like he's falling of a precipice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -slams hands down on glass table- FINALLY SOME DEVELOPMENT! (I have honestly been so excited to write this part and I just wrote it over and over until I was 100% satisfied and I have to say that indeed I am 100% satisfied). Izaya probably deceives himself as much as he deceives others, and also Dr. Jack is karma and he's coming to bite Izaya in the ass. Also I just noticed that Black Jack is named Jack too and I swear it wasn't on purposed but I wish it had been.  
> Anyways, thanks for all the comments and kudos!! They mean a lot and sometimes I cry about them. ;u;


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone for the comments, and the kudos, and just for reading this! I am having such a nice time with it and the support is always really nice. ;u;

Playing around with Shizuo had always been dangerous. Provoking him, seeing how far he could be pushed, barely escaping a direct hit of his slim wrist, it had always been like teasing death.

Teasing Shizuo had been like running through hot coals, or rubbing a finger over fire. It had brought with it an undeniably pleasant rush, a stroke to the ego that could not compare to any other activity.

Izaya, for the most part, had always been a cautious person. His activities required that he always watch his back, that he always be ready to escape at the nearest chance of things growing out of hand.

The puppeteer could never be revealed to the audience, nor to the puppets, it was a reckless move. But with Shizuo, Izaya had always been reckless.

It was strange how that very recklessness became his downfall. It was rather ridiculously twisted, how it was not Shizuo's violence that brought him down, but rather Shizuo's fallible humanity.

It was so perfectly ironic, that Shizuo, was at his most dangerous not when enraged, but when with his guard down and his lashes fluttering near his cheeks.

 

                                                                                         -------------------------------------------

 

"What the hell are you wearing?"

Izaya brings a hand to his chest, letting out a gently horrified gasp.

"Namie-chan, please, your language, it's foul."

"You're foul," she grumbles, not missing a beat as she rounds around her table to inspect him. "But I almost didn't recognize you. Where did you go dressed like that?" she almost sounds too horrified to find out, but Izaya decides he'll humor her, as he spins slowly in place.

"Oh, just here and there for an odd job. Flawless disguise, isn't it?"

"Hm," she moves away, glancing back one more time with her brow furrowed, as if still trying to convince herself it was really Izaya she was seeing.

"You wouldn't believe the number of girls that thought I was a model."

He gives her a devilish smile and her face immediately contorts into disgust.

"In fact, I was just about to go out and see if anyone wants to hook up."

This makes Namie look as if she's about to both puke out her guts and gouge out Izaya's eyes, so he takes it as his cue to rush out the door again, having already dropped off the documents he would ask her to file away, once she no longer seemed ready to murder him.

Izaya winds up in Ikebukuro, because he can't think of anywhere better to put his get-up to good use. It's still a slight too early for nightlife to really bustle out of its shell, so he struts down the streets, walking with the confidence of a man that looks as if he's a cut-out of a high-fashion magazine.

The glasses perched on his face make his nose feel constricted, and the compress earring dangling off his lobe feels rather heavy, but there are looks of both curiosity and interest following his every step, and it rather makes the whole discomfort worth it. It was absolutely delightful to watch how people's perception could be so easily dissuaded and deceived by things such as simple as articles of clothing.

He hadn't dressed as he did for fun a social experiment, of course. He could just as easily do that clad in his usual outfit, and dressing up per society's standards wasn't really his usual idea of a good time. However, seeing as he had gone through all the trouble of perfecting the haughty, haute-couture mannequin style, it seemed a rather dreary waste to discard it after getting his job done and over with too quickly.

He's so entertained thinking over what he could do, and striking a pose in front of every reflective surface he can find, that he doesn't see the body careening towards him until it's too late, and they're both toppling in a mess onto the ground.

Izaya gets up first, rearranging his hat and glasses, before taking in the stranger that's dusting off their light jeans. It takes him a few beats or so to recognize that it's not so much a stranger, as it is someone who is infuriatingly familiar to him.

"Watch we're you're going!" Shizuo says, before seeming to catch himself, holding up both his palms in an apologetic gesture. "Ah, shit sorry, that was rude. Are you...okay?" He blinks a moment, staring intently at Izaya's face as if trying to piece it apart, before a light of recognition seems to go off in his gaze.

"Flea? What the hell are you wearing?"

"I could ask you the same question, Shizu-chan."

Shizuo's wearing what looks like a powder blue jumper. There's no vest or crisp collars in sight, just loose, baggy sleeves and large front pockets that seem to already be holding Shizuo's wallet and keys. Izaya hadn't thought Shizuo even owned anything in any other color beyond the usual set of black-white-gray, nor had he ever thought that he'd live to see the day that Shizuo's ears would be exposed, his shaggy hair tucked behind them.

"There's nothing wrong with what I'm wearing. Kasuka sent it to me. It's comfortable." He says this is if daring Izaya to contradict him, and it makes him laugh, as he shakes his head.

"And whatever is the problem with my fashion choices then?"

"You getting dressed up can't mean anything good." Shizuo grumbles, crossing his arms.

Izaya pretends to cringe. "You're always so ready to judge me, Shizu-chan..."

"It's not as if you've ever proved me wrong."

Izaya pauses for a moment. He knows they're both blocking the flow of people, he catches the pointed looks as the crowd is forced to move around them, he doesn't particularly care, he's too busy trying to understand why Shizuo's accusation rings so uncomfortably in his chest.

"Let me at it then."

"Let you what?"

"Let me prove you wrong."

Shizuo's face is comical. His brows furrow to the point that it looks like the crease in his forehead will pop, and his eyes shrink, almost as if trying to somehow pry into Izaya's mind and find out what he was planning. It was a pity not even Izaya knew what he was doing.

"You're being serious." Shizuo notes.

"I'm always serious, Shizu-chan."

A beat, then another. Shizuo breathes.

"Fine."

It's Izaya's turn to catch himself in shock. He coughs on his next breath.

"Doctor Jack says I should give people the benefit of the doubt. Even though you're a a flea and not an actual person, I suppose I can make an exception." Shizuo suddenly looks dangerously close to punching Izaya's lights out, leaning close to him, his nostrils flaring hard enough to make him seem like a bull. "If you try anything though, I won't hesitate to make you choke on those nice earrings of yours."

It sound like an actual threat, a tame one in comparison to what he was used to hearing, but it's enough to make Izaya feel oddly nostalgic.

"I'll behave," he agrees, leading them quietly, though amusingly uncomfortably, through the throng of people, Shizuo lagging behind with an obvious air of suspicion, until they end up at a small, corner café, done up in brick.

The inside isn't crowded, and they're quickly led to a secluded little table and given leather-bound menus.

Izaya foregoes the menu, watching as Shizuo scans the items over and over, seemingly calculating prices in his head, nearly angry with concentration. His glasses are out of the way for once, though this time his eyes are not closed, and Izaya can see them clearly, brown and piercing.

They rise suddenly, meeting his, and he's glad for the cover of his shades, glad he has a hand over his mouth so Shizuo can't see the way it trembles.

"What are you getting?"

"Coffee. I don't really like sweet things. And you?"

"I'll have the parfait."

Their orders are taken, and for a moment, there's only the tinkering of quiet music, the gentle strumming of a guitar. Izaya intakes the air, and it smells like ground coffee beans. Shizuo seems to sink further into his seat, slowly releasing his guard, seemingly starting to accept that Izaya really doesn't have any nasty schemes up his sleeve.

Izaya's not sure how he feels about this show of trust, if that's what it is. It feels almost oddly like an attempt at actual friendship, like a show of the possibilities that existed beyond their mutual hatred, if that was even mutual still.

Thankfully their orders come before he can think too deeply about it. Izaya sips at his coffee, finds it decent, strong, and bitter as he likes it. It gives him something to focus on.

Shizuo hums his approval of the parfait, takes it apart layer by layer, until there's only scratch marks of the spoon against the chilled glass. Izaya snorts, stares up and nearly groans at the sheer cliché that is the spot of cream above Shizuo's lips.

He's kicking down the urge to rise to the bait when Shizuo's hand suddenly stretches out, pulling at his shades gently until they're resting on the tip of his nose.

"You should take off your shades when you're inside, flea."

Izaya's heart turns cold and stops in his chest, he doesn't realize he's panicking until his chair is clattering back and he's standing up and rushing out.

He thinks it's a mistake. That he should have stretched out his hands and laughed, made a joke, a jab, anything that would seem natural in the situation.

Instead he'd ran, fled from the scene before the urge to pull Shizuo by his stupidly blue hoodie and wipe the cream from above his lips become too great. He fled before the smell of soothing ocean breeze and the lilt to a nickname that should never have sounded so endeared, led him to drop all his defenses and come apart.

He fled, because for the first time in his life, Orihara Izaya was terrified of Shizuo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -sweats- Well, this took a while to get out. I was trying to make it seem feasible but also I really wanted to write it. I think I reached a good half-way. Shizuo sometimes can one-up Izaya and I live for those moments. I hope you all enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing this (and oh boy did I). Also I got the inspo. for outfits by looking up some random Drrr magazine, cards, spreads, etc.  
> If ya'll see any typos, please let me know!


	8. Chapter 8

"It's rude to walk out on people on the first date, you know."

It's the last person Izaya had wanted to see, but he was slowly finding out that life had taken to delivering low blows the past few weeks.

He'd done well at avoiding Shizuo as much as possible since the...miscalculation. He wouldn't call it a fiasco, that would hint at him having lost control, and he never lost control, not if he could help it.

It had been a miscalculation, just as the fight that landed him bleeding in alleyway, had been a miscalculation.

He'd been reckless. It hadn't even been a momentary recklessness. Izaya had been reckless since the moment Shizuo stopped hefting vending machines at him. Izaya had become reckless since the moment he'd started feeling as if he needed to fight for his spot in Shizuo's life. Because he'd never been particularly important. He'd been a pebble in the shoe, an inconvenience, a flea.

And just like a flea he was found helpless, splayed out for his host to do as he wished. It was a position that made Izaya's blood boil, but part of him was too tired to do much anything beyond tilt his mouth in a sardonic smirk.

"I wouldn't have called it a date, Shizu-chan."

Shizuo chuckles, it's dry and humorless, and he moves from the edge of the alley, picking his way past trash to inspect Izaya from up close. His gaze is critical, calculating in a way that didn't suit him. There's a bag from a convenience store hanging from one of his hands, and Izaya can see the label of a famous pudding brand peeking through the plastic.

"Should have known you'd get yourself in trouble eventually." he finally notes, regarding the mess from Izaya's nose. "I'm amazed you didn't get yourself killed."

"Shouldn't you be happy? It's your job to kill me, isn't it?"

"No way," Shizuo pushes this away as if the very thought is suddenly abhorrent to him. "I've retired from that particular post. You'll get yourself killed in your own time."

He doesn't sound worried. Izaya doesn't know why a part of him had hoped he would. Maybe he wishes Shizuo felt just as territorial as he did, felt as if Izaya's life was for him to take, just as Shizuo's thrumming pulse was meant to still under Izaya's hands.

Though he hadn't been making proper attempts at it, hadn't even been trying to really get Shizuo buried and turned to ashes. He actually can't remember the last time he's actively wanted Shizuo dead, and that seems to seep a sort of righteous anger into him, and he finds himself glaring.

It must be a petty sight, because Shizuo's lips only twitch, as he shakes his head.

"I should call Shinra."

Izaya scoffed. Shinra would ask questions, questions he didn't want to answer. And Namie would still be at the office, clattering away on her computer, uncaring as to Izaya's whereabouts as long as her paycheck was delivered in time.

There was really no one he could call, or would want to call.

He could handle himself, he always had.

"You'll do no such thing, Shizu-chan."

He pushed against the wall with a strain, feeling sweat bead on his brow as the pain pulled at his muscles. Still, nothing felt broken. He could move. He tested his feet, checked for his switchblade in his pocket, feeling relief at the weight of it in his hands, he took a step, and sagged against the wall, rough brick still scratching at his back through his parka.

Shizuo seems to sigh, stretches out his free hand as if he's approaching a frothing animal, a very stiff frown on his face.

"Come on flea, give me your hand."

Izaya stares. He's not sure if he's in the right state for glaring again. His mind and sight seemed to have missed each other completely. His disbelief must show on his face because Shizuo hastens to explain himself, voice gruff.

"You can crash at my place, it's closer."

"That's hilarious Shizu-chan. And then I suppose you'll kill me, throw me out the window and call it a day?"

"I'm pretty sure that's the plot of a novel I read the other day." Shizuo seems to think for a moment, hand still waiting. "And no, I won't kill you as long as you don't try to kill me."

Izaya snorts in dark humor, grabs the hand. For a split moment he thinks of using it as leverage, thinks of a thousand ways to break Shizuo's arm, catch him off guard , escape out the alley and leave Shizuo howling like a wounded animal. For a split second, he thinks of pulling at Shizuo until his balance tips and he comes crashing down onto Izaya's waiting fist.

But Shizuo's hand is warm and certain, so disarmingly warm that Izaya's thoughts all scatter, leaving him shell-shocked and empty.

 

\---------

                                                                                           

"I could kill you." Izaya notes, quiet.

Shizuo looks up, nonplussed. "Sure you could."

They're both showered. Izaya can smell the faint fragrance of ocean breeze from Shizuo's soap clinging to the both of them. It seems to permeate the stiff apartment, and he's almost tempted to crack a window, but in the time it had taken to arrive the skies had closed with rain, leaving them shut in with only the incessant patter of drops against glass.

They were in Shizuo's house. Izaya had used Shizuo's uncomfortably cramped bathroom, had watched Shizuo pull their clothes from the washer-dryer and hang them off the back of his kitchen chairs. He'd ruffled through the first-aid kit Shizuo had silently provided, used up as much of Shizuo's gauze as he had been able to, in a childish display of defiance.

Shizuo hadn't seemed to notice, or care.

The kit currently lay discarded on the coffee table, along with a half-glass full of milk. Izaya had turned down any offer of tea, or pudding, claiming it all to be laced with poison.

Shizuo had laughed at this, before pulling a book from a crammed shelf under the TV and folding himself down onto his couch.

Shizuo's apartment, in contrast to his height, was almost depressingly small. Izaya had known this, but there was a great difference between knowing, and truly experiencing it first hand. It was nearly surreal to see how Shizuo could easily fold in on himself, settled on a couch that was too low, old and rickety to be decent anymore, and seem at complete ease, even with Izaya hanging off his shoulder.

"I could kill you." Izaya repeats, almost as if to himself.

Shizuo hums. "Yeah,"

"I want to kill you." he sighs, leaning against the back of Shizuo's couch so he's looking over the blonde's shoulder, down at the pages that have captured his attention.  
Shizuo breathes out through his nose, almost in amusement, but his tone is serious when he speaks again.

"I know."

"But you're already dead, Shizu-chan, so what's the point?"

This seems to catch Shizuo's attention. He folds the edge of a page, craning his neck to stare at Izaya with a look that seems to be seriously contemplating his sanity.  
"What are you talking about?"

"You're not my Shizu-chan anymore." Izaya admits, aware he sounds rather like a petulant child, but too strung up on the effects of painkillers to particularly mind. "My Shizu-chan threatens me at every turn. My Shizu-chan rejoices at the thought of bashing my head in. My Shizu-chan wouldn't have invited me into his home, so carelessly."

Shizuo looks down, searching for something. His lips part, then close, before he shrugs a shoulder.

"That wasn't me, not completely. That was mostly the anger. You annoyed me, knew how to make me lose control and I hated that." Shizuo laughs, and it almost sounds sad.

It's such a strange, foreign sound, that Izaya has to stare to make sure it's real.

"You still know how to piss me off. I just don't let it take over anymore. I don't...I never liked having the anger control me. I used to think that my strength was the problem, but it was just my temper the whole time." he flexes his fingers, book forgotten. "It feels good, being in control. So, I won't fight anymore. I hate it. I always have."

Izaya holds his breath, bites his tongue. Shizuo seems to be poised, expecting a teasing remark, but Izaya finds he has nothing. He's been drained dry of sarcastic commentary, Shizuo's blatant honesty leaving him flayed.

Not dead, just different. He didn't know what was worse.

"Shizuo,"

Shizuo blinks, startled by the use of his name. He's looking straight at Izaya, face contorted in the usual confusion that made him seem strangely dog look, head tilted at just enough of an angle to nearly border on comical.

"If you're in control, then what happens to me?"

He balks. "Nothing. Don't be stupid flea. The medication's making you an idiot, go to sleep."

Izaya shakes his head, solemn. Shizuo makes him take the bed, and he stays there, stiff, and awake and aching. Aching from his body down to his soul.  
Shizuo didn't understand, couldn't understand. He couldn't understand that Izaya was a parasite, a parasite that had made the grave mistake of becoming too attached to its host.

He couldn't comprehend the gravity of the situation, wasn't aware of the fact that if Izaya wasn't focused on killing Shizuo, he tended to focus on things that were much, much more dangerous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think if Shizuo wasn't busy being angry at Izaya all the time then he would probably be a mix of patronizing and awkwardly sympathetic. He'd understand Izaya's struggling. Shizuo is generally pretty calm, and relatively friendly when he's not in a mood, and there are really cute scenes of him genuinely being nice and enjoying things, especially in Relay and Alley.  
> Izaya on the other hand would probably let his front slip a few times, especially since he doesn't seem to be the type who knows how to deal with frustration and lack of control well.  
> I had a great time writing this chapter, and I hope this view comes across! Enjoy and thank you for all the kind kudos and comments. ;u; <3


	9. Chapter 9

Sometimes Shizuo missed smoking. Not because he particularly wanted to keep ruining his lungs, but because he'd enjoyed the weight of  it around his fingers and the sight of smoke curling in front of his eyes, making the world seem blurry, and less irritating. 

With his head out his window, and his mind lost in thoughts, he missed something to twist between his fingers.

He'd taken up gum to curb his urges, and then moved on to cracking hard candies between his teeth, or keeping a lollipop in his mouth long after it had been worn down to the core.

It had been hard at first, and when he'd fallen with a fever and a headache he'd almost felt as if he couldn't do it. He'd managed somehow though, and in the end, it became but an itch in the back of his head, that soon faded into nothing.

This itch was similar to the scratching of his temper, just on the surface of his skin. Before his sessions with Doctor Jack, the likes of which Kasuka had guilted him into by paying in advance, Shizuo's temper had been like his smoking; a destructive, unstoppable, ardent habit.

The consultations had been like his rehab, like his gradual switch from nicotine to sugar. They had been rocky at first. Shizuo had, in more than one instance, broken things in the Doctor's office, driven the secretary to tears, and scared off other patients.

Still, the good doctor hadn't given up on him once. It had been strange, having someone so earnestly believe in him. Money hadn't had nothing to do with it, Shizuo had probably caused more damage than the payment of the sessions could make up for, but Doctor Jack still asked him to come around again.

And he did. He did because he felt he owed Kasuka as much; he probably felt like he owed the doctor as much as well.

It took a few months, months that had felt like years, but the results did eventually start to show.

Shizuo had been startled, the afternoon in which he managed to not punch someone's face in, simply by breathing deeply and counting to ten.

Doctor Jack had smiled, his big, Santa smile that made even the smallest of achievements seem like great deeds.

_"See, I knew you could do it."_

That was probably the moment he decided that Doctor Jack had joined Kasuka, Tom and Celty on Shizuo's list of people he couldn't let down.

The real test had come, of course, with the return of Izaya, and his nasty, sneaking ways. It had probably taken more cigarettes and willpower than Shizuo was willing to admit to treat Izaya like one more inconvenience in life. It had taken driving his nails deep into his hands to keep from reaching out and trying to ring Izaya's neck every time he saw him.

But Shizuo did it. It was surprisingl, how easy things became once he realized that he _could_ do it; that he could live his life without being dragged around by Izaya's wiles or his own temper.

Shizuo found that being in control was liberating. It brought to him a sense of peace he had only ever thought of as an elusive dream.  He came to like himself a little more, detest his strength a little less and feel a comfort in his own skin that became priceless.

Strangely enough, as Shizuo's calm increased, Izaya's agitation seemed to rise along with it. It had almost been funny at first, to watch the flea, always so cock-sure and confident, suddenly grasp at air, conflicted at the change in their dynamics.

It had been funny, until it stopped, and became rather pitiful. Shizuo would never have thought himself capable of pitying the person who had been a constant source of chaos in his life, he'd always thought he'd only be capable of hate.

He supposed the pity had derived from understanding. He could understand Izaya's confusion, his struggle to balance himself in new territory. And somehow that pity had turned into an almost fond exasperation. Fond exasperation at the flea's constant antics.

Of course, he'd be lying if he said that the 'secret admirer' scheme didn't throw him off a little, once he caught on to it. He'd been pissed, had gathered all the gifts, and letters, and shoved them into a bag, ready to burn them or shove them down Izaya's throat.

Except he'd stopped at the last minute, because a part of him had realized that there had been thoughts put behind those gifts. That Izaya had gone through the trouble of finding them, writing elaborate notes, and placing them in front of Shizuo's apartment. It had reminded, Shizuo oddly, of a cat, trying to make their owner to congratulate it, or in Izaya's case, an attempt to get Shizuo to notice him again.

And it had worked, in a way. Shizuo did start paying closer attention to Izaya. To his mannerisms, to his ticks and tells. To the way he seemed to be enclosed in a protective shell of bluffs and aloofness; to the way he sometimes seemed so out of tune with his own feelings, while being so closely linked to those of others.

Shizuo hadn't been aware of it at first, but the pity blended out into something mellow, until he no longer found Izaya's presence so scornful. He still trusted the flea as much as he trusted a viper, which was not at all. He still thought Izaya was more of an asshole than an actual human being.

But he wouldn't say he hated him so much. Not anymore.

 

\--------------------

 

Shinra had meant for them to be friends. They wound up becoming enemies.

It was, in foresight, rather hilarious. Sometimes Izaya wondered if Shinra resented them in any way.

He didn't think so. It was possible that Shinra had seen it coming, and simply accepted it with the resigned shrug of one who knew better than to argue.

Izaya supposed they had been like two territorial predators, baring their fangs at one another to see who would come out victorious, and Shinra had been the one to place them in the ring of fire.

For a near decade, they had made Ikebukuro their battle field, had torn at each other's throats and banned one another's existence with matching fervor, with enough hate that it become an ingrained habit.

Their fights had become tradition, second nature, a mere spectacle in the strange playing board of the city. They had grown commonplace, and _familiar_.

And then that familiarity was stripped of the burn of hate and the ardency of chase, and replaced with the pull of awkwardly placed smiles and stumbling attempts of congeniality. 

It was infuriating. It was disgusting, and a near blasphemy. It felt like a breach of an unspoken contract, knowing that Shizuo would no longer try to kill him, and that in turn, any attempt at killing Shizuo would seem pointless.

It left Izaya grasping at nothing. He'd spent time, after time, grasping at nothing, trying to childishly patch back together a relationship that had been completely destroyed before he had even been given a chance to salvage it.

He resented Doctor Jack for being one of the guiding forces that cracked his perfectly calibrated world. He resented him for  twisting Shizuo in a way he had only dreamed of doing. He resented him for leaving him with a Shizuo that seemed to think with his mind, rather than his fists.

Izaya wanted to resent Shizuo as well, wanted to resent him for the way he folded onto the small couch of his tight apartment, wanted to resent him for the way he looked at Izaya as if he could somehow start to forgive everything that Izaya had done to ruin his life, as if somehow their past had been nothing but youthful scuffles.

He knew of course, that it wasn't so simple. He was sure that Shizuo probably resented him just as much, if not more. The past could never be so easily erased. But it could be grown out of. And perhaps that was what Shizuo had done. He'd grown out of the past, and he'd forced Izaya to change along with it, forced Izaya to see that old habits _did_ die hard.

And it was about time Izaya buried his old habits. There was only so much persistence he could attempt before even he had to see that it was all pointless.

"Ah, Namie-chan, you were right after all, it's a lost cause."

"Hm?" Namie looked up, face dry. "Oh, _that_."

Izaya spun in his chair, lazy and slow, the sound of the wheels squeaking against the floor bouncing off the walls.

"Indeed. Maybe I should give you that raise after all..."

Namie purses her lips, brows furrowing in the closest thing to worry he'd ever seen her regard him with.

"Jesus, you're being honest. What brought this on?"

He waved his hand lackadaisically. "Oh, this and that.."

She shook her head at the implications of Izaya's vague justification.

"It's all Shizu-chan's fault though," he added, for good measure.

For old time's sake, perhaps.

"It's hardly Heiwajima's fault that you're attracted to him."

Izaya tilts his head to the side, staring at the knob of his knife, sheathed innocently on his table, where he'd left it with his parka.

"How vulgar, Namie-chan. That's not what it is at all."

Namie snorts, whether at his dismissal or in disbelief, he's not certain.

She places a few heavy files atop her desk, looking over their labels with a thoughtful frown.

"Right. You're not attracted, just obsessed. You need a new hobby."

She clucks her tongue, and Izaya laughs.

"Shinra said the same thing."

"Then follow his advice." Namie huffs, opening a cabinet and riffling through the papers in it, obviously no longer interested in entertaining Izaya's musings.

"Oh, I would Namie. Trust me, I would. But I can't seem to stay away from him. And even when I do avoid him, he's still there, frolicking in my mind like a dammed demon."

"Heiwajima? That's ironic, coming from you."  Namie pulls her bangs out of her face, but she's staring at him again, regarding him with actual intent.

"Isn't it? It's almost like I'm becoming an idiot."

Izaya stretches out his legs, chair pausing in its movements. The clock on the wall ticks, and Namie blinks, looking as if she's just placed down the last piece of a daunting puzzle, and the resulting image is too shocking for words.

"Oh...." She heaves a pull of air, and there's an almost condescending, patronizing pity as she eyes Izaya, veiled only by a vague understanding that sets him on edge.

"It all makes sense now. You fell in love with him."

This time when Izaya laughs it's genuine.

"Don't be daft Namie-chan. I've never loved anyone in my life,"

"There's a first time for everything," she muses, and it almost feels foreboding, in the isolation of the office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Shizuo's POV was honestly really soothing. I was kind of fighting this chapter until he showed up. I hope you guys enjoy it! It clears up a few things, hopefully! Also, Izaya is still in denial and he's probably in so deep he has grown gills.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please listen to "Killing me Softly" by the Fugees, if you wish! I wrote this chapter with this song playing over and over until it was all that kept playing in my head.

"Flea?"

Izaya drops the parcel in his hands. He shouldn't have come. Shouldn't be there. But he is, and it's too late.

There's a clear crack as it connects with cement, toppling on the edge of the stairs to Shizuo's apartment, before tumbling down a few steps with an embarrassing clatter.

Shizuo only raises one dry, nonplussed brow, regarding the package with vague curiosity, seemingly waiting for an explanation.

"Shizu-chan," he greets, shoving his hands in his pockets. "What a horrible surprise."

"This is my apartment," Shizuo notes, unnecessarily deadpan, as if he's somehow worried Izaya has finally lost the last of his marbles. "What are _you_ doing?"

"I'm certainly _not_ breaking and entering."

"Right," Shizuo moves past him, digging for his keys while keeping one eye on Izaya, on guard for some sort of false move.

"Would my 'secret admirer' like to come in or would he prefer to remain creeping out here all day?"

Izaya hovers, hands twitching in their confines as he watches Shizuo lean on the frame of the door, kicking off his shoes.

"What are you on about, Shizuo?"

"Don't play dumb." he grouses, annoyance clear as he rolls his eyes. "Are you coming in or are you going to stand out there scaring the neighbors?"

Izaya purses his lips, dropping back a few steps to pick up the abandoned parcel.

It crinkles under his grip, clattering as he steps over the threshold of Shizuo's home for the second time in his life.

It feels like two times too many, just as it feels like it won't be the last.

"How'd you find out?" he finally asks, as the door shuts inevitably behind him.

There's the click of a lock.

Shizuo moves, clothes rustling. He's back to looking strangely gangly in the limited space, head bent as he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt and drapes his vest over a chair.

The windows are open, curtains tapping with every sway of heavy urban wind that makes its way inside.

Izaya breathes, and his nostrils burn with the same misplaced scent of an ocean breeze.

"A hunch." he jerks his head towards the couch in a silent invitation. "I had my suspicions. The...letters. That thing you said, about it not being a prank. It  just, seemed odd. That, and I saw you looking over mystery books at the library."

Izaya snorts at Shizuo's wording choice, lets himself fall onto the dry cushions of the couch, placing the parcel atop Shizuo's drab coffee table.

"Why'd you do it?"

Shizuo's eyes aren't on him, they're scanning over the contents of his fridge. It makes it hard to tell if his frown is directed at Izaya, or at the pudding he's checking the due date of, holding it up to the light critically.

"Who knows. Maybe I just wanted to make you cry."

"That's gross. I wouldn't cry from something like that." he rifles for a spoon, moving to the couch and settling on its arm, the furniture creaking under the pressure. "What would you get out of it anyhow?"

"Nothing." Izaya laughs, humorless. "I get nothing out of it. I got nothing, out of all of it. So, it doesn't really matter now, does it?"

"You're weird, flea." Shizuo notes, simply. "Why's it so hard to accept that we're no longer going to kill each other, and, I don't know..." he waved his spoon around. "Move on?"

Izaya flexes his hand, lets it constrict into a fist and then relax, head craning back as he inhales the stifling smell of Shizuo's caramel pudding, of Shizuo's intimacy, of his cracked ceiling and his dry laundry, piled atop his kitchen table.

"Because that's all we were supposed to be, Shizu-chan. Enemies. Hating you was simple, and it was fun. And if there was a risk of death, well, that just added to the thrill of it." Izaya shrugs. "If I killed you, it would just be a bonus."

Shizuo's teeth cracked against the spoon.

"But that's all in the past." Izaya rests his cheek on his arm, staring at the shadow of Shizuo's lashes on his cheeks. "And it's hard. Not being able to hate you is hard,"

"You can still hate me," Shizuo says, matter of fact; but there's an underlying softness to his tone that Izaya can't quite place the reason for.

"I can't." he chuckles, dry and worn. "I can't, and I'm trying. I keep trying to make you do something just so I can hate you again,"

Shizuo  lets his spoon drop into the empty pudding cup, stiff, wiping his lips with a finger as he clears his throat.

Izaya's honesty seems to have caught him off guard, and he struggles for a moment, with his words, brows furrowed in concentration.

"What're you going to do about it?"

"I don't know. I'll tell you when I figure it out."

Shizuo blinks, almost the same brown as the lingering caramel stuck to the empty pudding cup.  

He's about to open his mouth again, ask questions Izaya doesn't have the answer to, or doesn't feel like answering, or is better off not answering.

He knows he'll answer anyways.

He puts a finger over Shizuo's lips, a gesture requesting silence, that feels much too confidential in the confines of the diminutive apartment.

They're soft, sticky with sweetness. Strangely alluring.

He lingers, and Shizuo freezes; shoulders rigid, lips parting in a breath as he moves back, face turning a violent shade of pink.

Izaya's not sure what it is that makes him sicker, the heady rush of blood or the taste of pudding as he brings the same finger to his own mouth.

"I should get going," he finally says, opting for casual, heart feeling too loud in his chest. "The ruse is over."

He stands, brushes off his parka, leaves the parcel on the coffee table.

"At least get a new hobby, until then, won't you?" Shizuo suggests, trying for neutrality beyond his choked pitch.

Izaya's not sure what it is he's referring to, but it makes him grin anyhow, wry and twisted, and self-depreciating as he moves to the door.

Shizuo's ears are still red when he glances back for a moment.

"I don't know Shizu-chan. I'm rather starting to like this one."

 

\---------------

 

Izaya doesn't see Shizuo for a while. It's just as well. The last time he'd seen Shizuo , he'd left feeling confused, torn, and strangely warm.

He hates it. Hates that it it's not the familiar burn of dislike that he feels, but something subdued and gentle, that curled into his chest.

Shinra assures him more than once that he's not having a heart attack, that heart attacks don't feel 'fluffy and sickeningly tender'.

There's no amount of medication to really make it stop, and not one doctor seems willing to give Izaya a fatal diagnosis.

They all seem to tell him that it's 'emotional'. Izaya laughs, because he's spent his whole life adamantly ignoring and avoiding unpleasant emotions; emotions beyond his control. It seemed oddly ironic, that they would suddenly catch up to him, when he least expected it.

It grows tighter, harder, when he catches sight of a shocking blonde head in the street, or passes a gleaming stop sign under the setting of the sun, when he rushes past cars, and sees the wisps of cigarette smoke billowing into the sky from an open window.

He looks out over the city, over the running, fleeing humans, scattered over the ground like ants and tries to feel whole again, tries to pretend he's not looking for anyone in particular.

Time moves on. He works, he sleeps. He messes around. He laughs as people make fools of themselves, and he laughs as he also acts the part of a fool.

It feels like he's slowly dying, withering under the pretense he's trying to hold up.

It's on an uneventful morning that he passes a bakery with cakes freshly decorated placed on the window in gleaming rows of glace and chocolate glaze, that he finally allows himself to think of Shizuo, a dry, sarcastic twist to his reflection.

And his heart jumps, loud, and strong, and certain of what it wants. It makes Izaya want to rip it out of his chest, watch it bleed out on cement as he steps on it, until it's broken apart and he's rid of its weight for good.

He doesn't, he simply lets out a bitter breath, that fogs up the glass, and realizes, that perhaps, it's all still a game.

A game that Shizuo is not playing, yet winning. A game where Izaya is killed, not with fury or violence, but softly.

"Ah, there's a song like that, isn't there?" he muses.

It's stupid, it's reckless.

He seeks Shizuo out anyways.

He'd never been good at turning down danger, not when Shizuo was involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The order of events is sort of left up to interpretation this time, which honestly made it kind of fun! I thought about it a lot though, I reckon it was worth it. Izaya's starting, to be honest...sort of. He's trying at least? Watch him start following Shizuo around like a lost puppy next time. Izaya's the type, isn't he?


	11. Chapter 11

The seasons turn. The leaves change color, then it rains and stops.

The world grows cold then warms again. It keeps spinning and moving even as Izaya feels as if his view is being convulted and twisted with every passing day. And every passing day is consumed by Shizuo.

It's Spring, and everytime Izaya utters a preppy, falsetto call of 'Shizu-chan', he gets an eye roll and the small, sweet twist of a smile. 

It used to be that when Izaya called his name, Shizuo would frown, a vein would pop on his forehead, and he would grind his cigarette into a pulp, a reflection of what he wished to do to Izaya's head.

But that seems like years ago. It seems like two different people, displaced an adjecent reality that can no longer be reached.

Izaya stops trying to reach it. Decides to settle in for the ride with the cards he has been dealt with. 

He manages. For a while he manages, and the awkward meetings become bouncing banter that becomes something nameless, something sparkling and fresh and constructive, where it had once been destructive. 

It makes Izaya dizzy, it makes him curl with satisfaction, and a new rush of sticky adrenaline that leaves him buzzing long after Shizuo's gone.

It's good. It's good, but its bad. It's bad because Izaya thinks he could get used to it. Izaya can see himself wrapping his hands around these changes like a lazy dragon, with each change of the date on the calendar.

It's amazing, how people can change, not only change, but flourish perhaps, under the right conditions. 

He'd always been fascinated by that fluidity of humanity. Loved seeing emotions stamp themselves on a face, loved watching the twist of adversity or the fire of despair. But he also found he liked watching secret, soft smiles in the privacy of a balcony, and ringing giggles that echoed in empty streets.

It was new, and he rejoiced it, just as he abhorred and flinched from it every time it got too close to him, and his soft, molten heart, that he guarded with a knife and gun.

It didn't help that he'd always been fascinated by Shizuo too. Yes, he'd hated him, with a passion. Hated the way he'd been so, so twisted yet kinder, kinder than Izaya could ever be. Hated that he'd always worn his emotions on his sleeves, unafraid of the way they could hurt and cut. Hated that, despite how much he could break, Shizuo had always managed to have more friends, more attention, more love than he seemed to think he deserved, than he seemed to know what to do with. 

Izaya had used to think he'd been jealous of Shizuo's ability to live so fiercely and fearlessly, to open himself and make friends without even trying. That had only been part of it. It took him too long to find out the bottom of the iceberg.

That he had wanted Shizuo. He'd wanted Shizuo to look at him, and not look away. He'd gone on pulling at Shizuo's pigtails, in the hopes that Shizuo wouldn't grow bored of him and move on. Riling Shizuo up had meant he had the bond, the companionship, without the danger of involvement. Yet at the same, the part of Izaya that was always, always craving company, craving someone and everyone at the same time, had been selfishly hoping to also chip itself into a part of Shizuo's being, to the point that when he died, Shizuo would feel it.

Dying was no longer a risk. Not by Shizuo's hand.

Izaya himself sometimes still thought about squeezing Shizuo's neck. Just to feel it, under his hands, to feel it spasm. He wondered what it would be like, if it would be a power rush, or if it would only be empty adrenaline. He didn't dare try. 

Touching Shizuo was still too much of a risk, too dangerous of a line for him to toe.

He avoids touching him, because touching felt like letting his hand hover too long over fire, and Izaya had always been just slightly masochistic.

Yet he doesn't avoid seeing him. Not when it's not worth the hassle, not when the near incessant thrumming of his heart doesn't allow it.

Not when Shizuo made it so hard to avoid him in the first place.

He wouldn't go as far as saying they were friends. Izaya's only friend had ever been Shinra, and even then, that was often questionable. He wouldn't go as far as to say that Shizuo trusted him, or even liked him.

But they had fallen into something, and Shizuo seemed to tolerate him, though perhaps that wasn't the word.

Most people tolerated Izaya, as if he were a particularly insurmountable and inconvenient force of nature.

Shizuo seemed to accommodate him, with an exasperated, amused sort of resignation that made Izaya feel as if perhaps, just perhaps, his company was not so vile after all. 

And it's bad. Because Izaya is making a habit of it. Making a habit of sitting with Shizuo on a park bench, content to simply let the world go by. He's making a habit of people watching, simply for the enjoyment of what had always been a hobby of his, with no ulterior motive hanging over his mind. He's making a habit of visiting odd, street side cafes, to sip on bitter coffee while Shizuo eats whatever vile dessert looks more sugar laden. He's making a habit of spending less time on his social media, and more time outside, trudging after Shizuo when he goes grocery shopping or to the bookstore.

He's making a habit of letting his fascination take over, but this time there's nothing stopping him.

"Are you going to just stand there?"

Izaya blinks, realizes he has been standing with his hands in the pockets of his parka for far too long, and that Shizuo is glancing at him, slightly curious but mainly entertained, the corner of his eyes crinkled in a smile.

Izaya smiles back, at least it feels as if he does. He doesn't know if it's genuine, doesn't know if he's ever really smiled like one is meant to, but he lets it take over anyways. He'd been doing more and more of it. It was one of the things he'd stopped fighting against.

It was all pointless anyways.

And it always makes Shizuo laugh, as if the expression is somehow unfitting.

"Shizu-chan,"

"Flea," he greets back again, stretching his legs out. They move, long and lean over the ground, and Izaya side-steps them, falling into the space next to Shizuo. They're meeting under a grove of trees this time, the sun setting somewhere in the cluster of buildings in the distance.

Izaya has a package with strawberry shortcake, and another with fatty rolls. He pulls them out, offers Shizuo a plastic spoon, and accepts the bottle of whatever drink he's offered.

Shizuo mumbles a silent 'thanks'. Izaya's still not sure what to do with that yet.

'You're welcome' always sounds too foreign in his mouth, so he never says anything.

"What sort of horrible things did you get up to, today?" Shizuo decides, sucking on the whipped cream from a strawberry.

Izaya swallows.

"That depends, how many people's faces did you beat in, Shizu-chan?"

Shizuo pretends to think, the corner of his lip twitching as he glances at Izaya, mirthful.

"Five,"

"Well, I'll have you know, I behaved for once."

"Ah, why do I find that hard to believe?" he teases.

"You shouldn't. I can behave when I want to,"

Shizuo laughs, he always does so more with his shoulders, than with his mouth, his brows furrowing almost as if he wants to frown.

"You're right, you're right...you've been awfully well behaved." Shizuo side-eyes him. "You're not scheming anything anymore, are you?"

"I told you. I've run out of schemes. I've even decided I'll stop trying to kill you."

Shizuo laughs again, louder this time, his head falling back on the bench with a painful thud that makes Izaya's mouth part. He rubs at the spot, chuckling.

"So, this...that you've been doing...it's just...?" he motions vaguely with a hand, as if waiting for Izaya to complete the thought. Izaya doesn't want to complete the thought.

"This, what?"

"The...gifts, and the, places...all that."

Oh. _Oh._

Izaya gives a depreciating shrug.

"Because I want to."

"You've always been that way." Shizuo spears his cake, lets out a wispy little sigh as he takes a bite. "I told you to find a new hobby."

"It's not a hobby," Izaya tries, attempting to focus on the taste of his own food, and not on the way the sounds clings to his ear.

"Do you like it?"

"What?" Izaya asks, around a mouthful.

"This,"

"I..." he breathes, lungs feeling too tight, food stuck like cement to his throat. 

He gauges Shizuo's expression for a moment, and the earnestness of his question is clear on the genuine gaze of his eyes. There's a mute vulnerability there too, the same that always seems to cling to him like the remains of a shadow.

"God, is this a joke?"

Izaya wonders if this is some concession. If there's some key word he's supposed to say that'll suddenly make everything fall into place.

For all he knows of manipulation, and reading people, Shizuo always manages to catch off him guard, land in him things he's not prepared for.

The honesty sometimes feels like whiplash.

"Yes. I wouldn't be here if I didn't, Shizu-chan."

Shizuo blinks. Drops his fork back onto the package.

"You're still a pretty shitty person, huh?" he begins, blunt as always. "But I've come to like you too, flea."

And then he beams, big and wide enough to show his teeth, and Izaya feels like he's been flaked, and combusted and pulled inside out and back again.

His fingers tremble around his chopsticks and the air wheezes through his nose, and he thinks being crushed under a vending machine would have hurt less. It's bad. It's bad, and Izaya wants to engrave the image in his mind and have it be the last thing he remembers once he falls into the oblivion of death.

He closes his eyes, feels suddenly too old, and too young and fumbling again.

"Shizu-chan. You shouldn't do these things."

 

\-------------------------

 

"Don't say anything," Izaya sighs, as Namie parts her lips.

She purses them, raises one single brow as she shuts the door behind the client.

"I wasn't about to." she looks like she wants to taunt him, he can tell from the way her lips curl just so. "I was about to compliment you."

"You're incapable of flattery," Izaya notes, drumming his fingers atop his desk as he stares at the closed door.

"Ah, maybe it's Heiwajima I should be complimenting."

"Shizuo?" he laughs, mocking. "Why him?"

"You two have taken to..." She seems to search for a word as she staples a mass of papers together with a sharp crack. "Hanging out."

"How juvenile."

She rolls her eyes. "I think he's been rubbing off on you."

Izaya puts his foot up, tries to look as affronted as he can manage.

"Namie, if anyone's corrupting anyone, it's me, corrupting him."

"Stop lying to yourself for once," she sighs, shaking her head.

Her bangs move across her forehead, as she pulls up her sleeves.

"There's nothing wrong with liking him you know," she looks outside, at something Izaya can't see. "He's kind. He wouldn't hurt you."

She tacks on the last part like an afterthought, and it makes Izaya want to flip his desk over and watch everything crash onto the ground in an unrecoverable mess.

He doesn't. He doesn't deny it either. Instead he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

"I know." and he doesn't mean to sound so broken, but he's paying Namie well enough that he knows she probably won't use this against him, not yet, anyways.

"That's the problem."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of time skip here, but it was necessary. This chapter felt so mellow and bittersweet for some reason. I feel like Izaya can be quite subdued and prone to self-reflection when he's not busy being a coward and a creep. I also always felt that he needed someone, solid to talk to. He'd always come off as very lonely. His rambles where kind of sad to watch. Shizuo's the type that can offer a listening ear, and can banter just as easily (if he can manage to control his temper) and honestly they would bounce off each other really well in an ideal world. I feel like Izaya would cling at the chance of Shizuo's positive attention, eventually.  
> Also, if you guys haven't seen Shizuo's beam in the spin-off manga, please go see it. It will change your life.


	12. Chapter 12

He's antsy. He can't remember if he's ever been antsy before, if he's ever allowed himself to become aware of any nervousness he might have felt, or if he'd always hid it under some bravado. But he's certain, as he sits there, staring out into the city, watching the glow of lights in the distance, and listening to the distant calls of the life of Ikebukuro, that he's nervous, expectant really. It's new. And foreign, and perhaps that's what makes it thrilling, and terrifying all at once. It seemed a lot of his experiences, since becoming civil with Shizuo could be describe as such. Thrilling in their novelty, and terrifying, in how they seemed to peel at layers Izaya didn't even know he had, leaving him to clutch at his chest every time it ached for reasons that he'd only ever experienced as an outsider.

He had come to a decision though, a decision that could make and break the very frail foundation over which their relationship had been built. A decision he was pent up on following through. He breathes, and the sound is drowned by the sound of feet on gravel. He sees the small stones roll along with dust, and he doesn't have to look up to know it's Shizuo that has arrived. He does anyways,out of greed.

"Sorry I'm late. Got held up at work."

"Don't worry. I like it when you're late, gives me leverage over you," Izaya notes, staring at the bag hanging from Shizuo's wrist, trying to guess the contents of the hazy wrappers pushing against the plastic.

"Idiot," Shizuo falls next to him, stretching out his legs and letting out a long, drawn out sigh that curls around them like a lazy cat. The bag crinkles as he riffles through it, pulls out a Styrofoam takeout, and pushes it onto Izaya's chest along with a flimsy pair of chopsticks.

"For me?"

"You seeing anyone else out here?" he grumbles, pulling apart the casing of a sweet bun and biting into it with a fierce clack of teeth.

Izaya shrugs, stares at the sushi lined up in the container. They're all his favorites, lined up neatly.

The rice sticks to his fingers, and to his heart, and he licks, them, for a distraction.

The moment stretches into evening, the first signs of dusk spattering the sky with pollution and scarce stars.

Izaya's settled, thigh to thigh with Shizuo next to him, the stretched silence of lost thoughts hanging between them. They're two adults, sat outside like a bunch of lay about teenagers, stretched on the curb with their elbows on their knees, and their arms uncomfortably close, and the warmth of food in their bellies. And though it's not the first time they're out together, it's the first time Izaya has allowed them to come so close in a while, and it doesn't do much to help his sanity.

Either way, he doesn't move away.

Shizuo pops open the cap of a cherry cola he'd brought along, as if searching for something to do with his hands, and the fizz echoes for a moment, before he takes a swig, the color strange against the fierce glow of the setting sun.

His throat bobs, his hair tickles his ears, and Izaya becomes hyperaware of the butterflies in his gut, that he'd been trying valiantly to ignore.

"You're acting weird,"

Izaya startles, digs his chopstick into the Styrofoam of the meal they'd had before and watches them sink into the flesh, passing through the other side.

"Weirder than usual?" he prompts.

"Huh," Shizuo chuckles lightly, sardonic as he glances at Izaya, chin propped carelessly on a hand and eyes open, the bottle hanging from slender fingers on his other side. "Yeah, though I didn't think that was possible. What the hell's wrong with you? You've been like this for a while."

"I'm just thinking," Izaya says, licking his dry lips, and cursing Shizuo's uncanny ability to be observant, on an inconveniently instinctual level. It reminds Izaya of a dog sniffing out the air before a storm, and he wonders how long a while is supposed to mean.

"Nothing good, I suppose?" Shizuo prompts, when Izaya doesn't answer.

It certainly isn't. But he's not about to admit as much. He'd though he'd been doing just fine ignoring the warmth under his skin that had nothing to do with the outside temperatures, that he'd been doing quite well resisting the urge to pry Shizuo out of orbit and keep him to his own. Apparently, he'd been wrong.

Izaya glances at Shizuo's patently patient expression, at the bottle hung loosely around his hands, and the bubbles streaming inside of it.

He thinks his feelings are rather like the bubbles, leaking from any available escape as soon as the opportunity arises. He goes through with his decision before he can bite his tongue.

"Shizu-chan, have you ever liked anyone?"

Shizuo blinks. Glances at him with sudden interest, as if trying to piece some meaning into the sudden question. He glances up for a moment, away into the sky, where the moon is hanging in a taunting half-smile.

"I think so."

"Ah," Izaya nods with a chocked chortle, stares at the tips of his shoes, his parka dragging on the ground. "How was it?"

"Weird. But, not bad, I think." he decides, staring out at nothing, the light evening breezy broaching in on them and making his bangs flutter against his forehead.

"I see." Izaya shakes his head, tugs at his sleeves, glances up as a car rushes past them, kicking up dust and sound, he listens to its dispersing echoes, hand over his mouth, pulse a drum in his veins.

"That's oddly vague."

"I suppose it is," Shizuo laughs slightly, subdued. "It was a long time ago, so I don't remember the exact details. I know that, I wanted to see her all the time. I thought about her a lot. I think I wanted...her to be happy. But, I messed it up halfway through." "

That's not surprising..."

"Right?" Shizuo's huff is heavy with depreciation, faint with the taste of bittersweet memories. "Maybe, if I hadn't been the way I was...I would have had better luck with relationships."

"Hah," Izaya lets his mouth curl up into a dour smile at the familiar sting the words bring. He glances at a wad of dried out gum, stuck irreparably to concrete, and sighs. "For what's it's worth, I think you're fine the way you are, Shizuo."

Shizuo tilts his head, the way he always does when he's regarding something particularly difficult to solve, before he smiles, small and quiet, an almost pleased quality to the curl of his cheeks. His eyes are unreadable under the artificial glow of a lamppost, and Izaya's throat bobs, tight.

"Thanks, Flea."

Izaya tucks his hands together, in order to keep them from reaching out like moths to a flame. Shizuo takes another swig of his drink, the perspiration from it leaving a small puddle on the ground near his feet. He fixes his gaze upon it, form the words on his tongue with careful disinterest.

"Shizu-chan, how can you be sure, that you like someone?"

"Uh, I don't know?" he blanches for a moment. "I mean, maybe...kissing or holding han-"

Shizuo cuts himself off, nearly wincing, the bottle in his hand toppling over in a mess of sticky color.

Izaya moves like a rattlesnake. He's not careful, but he's hesitant, his fingers, resting on Shizuo's cheeks as if they might break.

He doesn't doubt Shizuo could snap them with ease, but that seems to be the furthest thing on his mind.

He slides them up, into Shizuo's hair, past fluttering lashes, near lips that are parted in uncertain surprise. There's heat building up under Shizuo's skin, and there's a realization slowly forming in his unwavering gaze.

Izaya almost pulls back at that, tempted to play it off, to make a comment that would break the moment apart and bring them back to the relative safety of what they had before. It's what he's always done, what he's always taught himself to do. He's selfish, and he's a coward. All he's ever known is avoidance, of fear, death, love, and all the things that made him as fallibly human as those he claimed to adore.

Yet he'd grown addicted. Addicted to Shizuo of all things, of all people. Addicted to everything Shizuo gave him, to every moment.

He twitches and Shizuo stops him before he can follow through, a gentle grip around Izaya's wrist, his cool fingers a shocking contrast to Izaya's feverish body.

"So, this is what it was all about?"

Izaya wants to laugh, but he seems to choke.

"You don't have to make it so complicated, Izaya. You can kiss me if you want."

His ears feel like they're ringing against the words, against the sudden temptation. He wonders how much of it is kindness, how much is Shizuo's ever present honesty.

"I thought you wanted a nice girl," he manages, disbelieving, his hands sliding over Shizuo's ears, drinking in his shiver.

"I can make do."

"I'm a terrible person, Shizuo."

"I've always known that. I'm no angel either."

Izaya leans in close, his center of gravity wrecked, their noses almost brushing. He doesn't bother disagreeing with Shizuo in that moment, there would be plenty of time to do so later.

He's too distracted by the freckles under Shizuo's eyes, the blotchy patches of a growing flush, the nervous part of his mouth, and the heat that had been consuming him grows into a fire.

He pulls harshly at Shizuo's collar and crushes his lips against chapped, stained pink.

Shizuo tastes pliant and sweet underneath Izaya's attack, the remnants of cherry cola on his tongue. He gives a pleased gasp, that makes Izaya's head churn with something nearly feral. He thrums, with a rush of adrenaline unlike any he's felt before, prying away for breath, fingers twitching where they're still poised onto fabric.

And Shizuo looks at him, head tilted, absolutely wrecked; pupils wide, lips slick, hair a mess, chest rising and falling in hummingbird rhythm, and Izaya's so absolutely smitten it hurts.

He chortles, a desperate, pleased mess of sound.

"I'll take you out on a proper date." he finds himself promising, before swooping in for a another kiss.

Shizuo meets him halfway with a chuckle that resounds against the distant calls of Ikebukuro. "I'll hold you to that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took literally 12 chapters but Izaya came around. Are they...dating now? Honestly, who knows. Izaya's a complicated mess and Shizuo's probably going to see where this is going, but they can make it work. I wanted to get a good balance between Izaya's cowardice and his need to be close to Shizuo, and this happened. I'm quite happy with it and I hope you all enjoy it too! Thank you ever so much for all the support, lovely comments, and reviews on this story! It was a good ride! <3


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